


untitled tennis star Mike ficlet

by thatotherperv



Series: tennis star Mike [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>originally posted <a href="http://melthemagpie.tumblr.com/post/94363216780/tanpopo03-answered-your-post-prompt-me-you">here</a> on tumblr, for tanpopo03's prompt: Mike is a sports star (and Harvey’s client) and Harvey has a crush</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled tennis star Mike ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> original note: I made him a tennis star for the funny. also, pre-D/s elements snuck in, TO THE SHOCK AND DISMAY OF EVERYONE HERE, I’M SURE. sorry, not sorry. 
> 
> archiving note: moving this here because I'm posting longer fic in the same verse

Harvey initially pursued Mike to piss off Louis, but once that mission was accomplished, Mike ended up becoming his favorite client.

He wasn’t the most lucrative, and it’s not like Harvey suddenly cares about tennis. In fact, he can’t stand to watch Mike play - his style can be best described as “flailing,” and it’s physically painful to behold. 

But God, this kid. 

"Is it possible to get a restraining order against your own lawyer?" Mike likes to stop by with no appointment or announcement when he’s bored. Donna loves him even more than Harvey does, so she lets him do what he wants. 

Harvey doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop. "I swear, the shrine should be taken as a compliment, Mike. Don’t be scared.”

"You have a shrine? That’s adorable. I meant Louis. He drooled on my shoes in the elevator."

He hits send on the email he was finishing and sits back. Mike is sprawled out in front of him, eyes are sharp and shining. Harvey has to smile back. "I’m sure he’d lick them clean again if you asked.”

The look of horror on Mike’s face is genuine. "Oh, God. Harvey. _No_.”

"I’m not suggesting he do it with his clothes off," Harvey says innocently, just to see Mike squirm. He could make the kid blush to his toes by saying what he really thinks, which is Mike would rather be the bootlicker. There are some lines Harvey can’t cross, though. Not with a client. They dance on the line as it is, often enough.

"Any actual business today, or did you just pop in to waste my time?"

"Waste, my ass. Like you’re not gonna bill me for it, later."

"So that’s a no, then." He does bill him every time and doesn’t feel the least bit guilty for it - Mike is taking his attention away from other work, for one thing. For another, services are being rendered, just not legal ones. Mike doesn’t always understand what he needs when he stops by, but Harvey gives it to him.

Now that he knows it’s not legal advice he’s doling out today, he lets his eyes drag over Mike’s body, draped in ill-fitting, stained frat boy clothes. He lets his disdain show. The kid’s a household name and refuses to wear anything worth more than $10. ”Didn’t I get you a Tom Ford sponsorship _last week?_ ”

Mike’s body relaxes and aligns itself toward Harvey in a way that he’s utterly unconscious of. ”Oh my god, you snob. I’m not working today, I want to be comfortable.”

"I’m glad you recognize how unprofessional you look at the moment - setting aside the fact that your job as a representative of Tom Ford doesn’t _have_ business hours, you still came to _my_ place of business dressed like one of the Boxcar Children. Did you think about how that makes me look?”

Mike flushes a little and sinks into his seat, but his face is mulish. ”I don’t see why it matters.”

It’s an argument they’ve had so many times, Harvey doesn’t even try to contain his eye-roll. As brilliant as Mike is, he doesn’t understand the world he’s been thrust into. He enjoys the success and security, but hates the game that comes with them, and needs Harvey to smack him upside the head on a semi-regular basis or else he pouts. 

He’s got so many people clamoring to kiss his ass these days, he doesn’t recognize how badly he needs to be told ‘no.’

"Look, I’m not having this discussion again. It matters because I say it does, and if you show up here again underdressed, I’m going to come to your place and burn every piece of clothing that’s not name-brand."

"Fine," Mike says, like he’s making a generous concession. He probably tells himself he’s humoring Harvey, but to Harvey it’s so clear that Mike’s relieved to have a bit of structure. Finite expectations that are easy to follow, enforceable. "I won’t offend your eyes any longer with the filth of the common folk. Are you happy?"

"Getting closer," Harvey tells him, and Mike’s so pleased with that that he looks away. "Now get the hell out of my office, some of us have jobs to do."

"Yes, _sir_.” Mike snarks, but quickly gathers himself to go at the look on Harvey’s face. Harvey watches him leave, feeling that emotional tangle unique to Mike as he walks away.

"Just to give you a heads up," Donna says over the intercom, "I have June 22nd in the office how-long-til-Harvey-fucks-that-kid pool. I’m gonna need you to step it up or I lose $300."

"Go away, Donna," Harvey says, and spins his chair to stare out at Lexington Avenue. He’s a lot closer than she thinks.


End file.
